


Alchemic Tributes

by Rosey Writes (ithefantasticfanatic)



Series: Alchemy [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Chemistry, Comedy, Completely original cast, Dark Comedy, Drama, Hunger Games, Inspired by The Hunger Games, M/M, So much random chemistry, Thriller, winning the hunger games through chemistry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 22:49:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17313326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ithefantasticfanatic/pseuds/Rosey%20Writes
Summary: Lamar gave a slow nod, jotting notes down in a small black book. “Swift?” I wasn’t sure if I should be glad or angry about the fact this man who’s known me since I could breathe seemed to have zero emotional attachment to my fate.“I…” What could I say here? “Chemistry.”Amazonia started to cackle, but Lamar glanced to her, and she stifled it with her napkin. “Anything else? Anything you have experience in?”“Just chemistry.”“... Chemistry,” he repeated in a low, incredulous voice. “Your skillset for a game of murder is chemistry?”And, in that moment, I knew I no longer had a mentor.--Born in the jewel of Panem, to a family of victors, Eliot Swift had everything a District Kid could dream of. Everything but the ability. Five zero, with the body type of a starved bird, he knew he'd be the family disappointment before he could spell the word, dropping out of the academy to pursue the one thing he could- Chemistry. So, when the 100th Games come around, and he's forced into the arena with nothing but his wit, a marble bowl, and spite, he'll have to play dirty to make it out alive.And he will make it out alive. If he has to nerve gas the whole arena to do it.





	1. Questioning 1

**_Observe Your Environment_ **

**_~_ **

I hate everyone

That’s not a secret. Not to me, not to them. It’s not a secret because I tell them to their faces, repeatedly, in the eloquent phrase of “fuck you.” Sadly, that doesn’t make you many friends.

Strange, many may say, considering I live in District 1. Oh the glorious, oh the richest, everyone there must be so smart and talented and b _lah blah blah blah_ \- it sucks. Everyone here is a stuck-up brat, our poster boy is a redhead sadist who never had to work a day in his life, there’s glitter on everything, people are celebrity worshiping idiots, and for god’s sake, you don’t live in the Capitol stop dressing like you fell in the dye maker.

I don’t hide these sentiments, have no reason to want to. Quite frankly, when you see someone choke to death in a perfume factory, you just give up on censorship. What are they going to do? Kill me? They do that to twenty four kids each year on reality TV, plus reruns every day. Death loses its punch when you’ve watched your neighbor’s eyes be gouged out a few dozen times.

Needless to say, I’m not very well liked. Not that I particularly blame them. I don’t particularly like me either, but, I’m the only me I’ve got.

Now, I’m not saying I’m  _better_  than any of these other District 1 freaks. Hell, I’m the son of a victor, I’m just as much of a useless brat as any of them, but at least I have the decency to admit it. And on no other day is this more apparent than the Reaping.

Ah, yes, the Reaping; the day father shoves me into a suit, I complain, he pretends I’m not a disappointment to the Swift name, I walk to the city square, they try to press me with the twelve-year-olds until they finally scan me to prove I’m sixteen, and instead force me into the box with the six and seven foot killing machines. Wonderful.

I heard father talking to some of the other victors last night - never a good sign - after they’d thought I’d went to bed. Stupid of them considering it was  _eight pm,_  but I’ll give them a pass. Slaughtering your schoolmates tends lower your sanity a tad. Anyway, I heard them talking through the ducts, something about how the capitol was planning something special for the hundredth anniversary of the games. Because child slaughter is so much fun! Yay!

God, I hate my people.

The alarm was blaring in my ear as I tried to keep my eyes shut, tried to ignore it and hide under the covers. Father would be up in the next few minutes if I did; he’d whine and moan about how ‘I went to the games, you can go to the Reaping’, and I give in because anything was better than Aren Swift’s nasally drawl. That in mind, I slam my hand down on the clock, yanking it back with a wince because ow that hurt.

Yawning, I open my eyes, first thing hitting them being the suit crumpled at the edge bed with a note reading, _I expect you down here by 8._  My brothers were screaming downstairs, the sound of shattering glass and punches travelling up, probably over who took the last of the milk.

It was me.

Checking the clock, the glaring 7:30 AM assaulting my eyes in its obnoxious Capitol-pink. So there was no pushing this back, huh? With a sigh, I got to my feet, putting on the suit, fixing my hair with a brush of the hands, and throwing on my boots with the heel that I painted so they look like flats, and I was on my way down, 7:59 on the dot.

I threw open the door, grabbing the handle before it hit the wall. Maybe now’s not the best time to cause a ruckus. Stalking down the stairs, I hopped over the creaky one at the end, landing on my toes. My brothers may have gotten the height, weight, age, and the every-other-advantage, but I’ve got a functioning brain and stealth on my side.

Ducking behind the bookshelf, I peeked around, and, sure enough, all three of my brothers were around the breakfast table. Illias, the oldest, bulkiest, and by no coincidence dumbest, was laughing, Bravon and Satin, second and third respectively on both accounts, rubbing their jaws with whines, bruises blossoming on the skin. I’ve always had a theory; as dad had more kids, the genetics for height were slowly swapped out for actual working brain cells, one by one, until you got to me. Dumb theory, perhaps, but not dumber than Illias, who once lost checkers to a dog.

Sadly, life rarely gave a singular shit about that sort of thing, though, otherwise I wouldn’t be the one inching my way towards the door to avoid family responsibilities. Because, god, the door, it was so close. Father didn’t seem to be around, probably having a drink with the other victors before the Reaping, especially since it’s all but certain that Illias’ heading in. The Academy adores him, most parents too, so when he offers to volunteer, there’s no way they won’t let him, now that he’s finally hit eighteen. Bravon will probably volunteer the next year, Satin the next, and then, well, then it’s supposed to be me but someone has to be the family disappointment. Hard job, truly, but it must be done.

Bolting from behind the shelf, I put my hand on the door, pulling it down, freedom in my grasp, when an arm wrapped around my neck, choking me as I was dragged back, laughter ringing in my ears. “Ey, Bambi’s trying to skip out on the pre-game!”

“Illie, I think you should let go, his face is turning blue…”

“Come on, he needs to toughen up.”

I couldn’t breathe. My vision was going white as I clawed and yanked, thrashing to get him off, hard, as his bicep was larger than my  _head._  Finally, he let go, air rushing back into my lungs. “Don’t call me Bambi.” I managed to choke in between gasps.

“Sure thing.” He clapped me hard on the back. “Bambi.”

Bambi. I hate that name more than anything else. Father had a book that had been passed down through his family, since before the dark days. It was a little book, with something called ‘Disney’ scribbled at the bottom, a silly story about a baby deer, only point of interest being the mother got shot. Somehow, that reminded my entire family of your truly, so they decided to start calling me Bambi.

“I need to go the factory.” I straightened my tie, glaring at Illias, which, admittedly, must have looked ridiculous, considering I was on my toes to do so, and I still couldn’t look him the eye.

“ _Boring_.” Plopping back in his seat, Illias kicked up his feet. “Dude, why do you want to spend your life playing with perfume?”

“Because I’ll  _be_  alive.” Sighing, I leaned on the wall, grabbing an apple off the table. “Oh, and when your colon gets ripped out through your nose, I’m taking your room.”

“I called it first!” Bravon whined, and Illias stood, slamming his hands down on the table.

“Why are you all so sure I’m going to lose, huh? Huh?!”

“I-It was a joke.” Bravon curled his shoulders to his ears.

I raised a brow. “No, it wasn’t.” Illias was glaring at me, and damn it, damn my mouth, why does it move without asking first?

“Huh.” He grabs my collar, pushing me to the wall, my head banging back against it, pain shooting through my skull. “Need me to show you how-”

“Illias. Put him down.” I never thought I’d be happy to hear that nasally whine, but as soon as the words were spoken, he dropped me, allowing me to crumple to the floor.

Aren was a tall man, blonde hair to the point of turning white in the light, eyes closer to the color of ice than the sky, and a harsh scar that traveled from the center of his back to his cheek. Some might call him attractive. Some might call him terrifying. I call him ‘trying too hard’ because I know for a fact that scar is a stick-on.

He kneels down, eyes cast down in that ever-shamed look they have whenever they’re on me. “You let yourself get pinned.”

Of course it’s my fault. “If you hadn’t noticed, he was about to hit me.”

“Yeah. Defend yourself next time.” I’m yanked back to my feet, and ow, I think that pulled my arm out of my socket. “You know today’s the Reaping, right?”

“Sadly.”

“Eliot Paris Sw-”  
  


“ _Don’t say that outside this house,_  I know that.” With a sigh, I tossed the apple to Satin, who grinned, taking out half of it in a bite. “Can I go now?”

“Why?” The nasally pitch dropped to a low growl and okay maybe it was a little (absolutely) terrifying. “You’re a  _Swift_. You don’t have to go into the games, I understand that, but I am not going to stand you disrespect them, disrespect your brother, who actually wants to improve our name.”

“Because killing is something to proud of?”

“It’s for  _honor_.”

“And what exactly does honor do?”

“More than dying in a perfume factory.”

Alright, that stung. “It’s not like I’d have half a chance if I went in.”

“Yes.” The rest hung heavy in the air, the unsaid words that only came out in drunken rants, as he sobbed to the other victors in the dead of night. _It would be better if he died in there than live the humiliation of never going in_. “Go to your factory, Eliot, just… just be in the square by eleven.”

“…Yes, Aren.” If someone asked what I found my father’s best talent to be, it wouldn’t be his ability to snap a neck with a flick of a finger, or his fire starting, his sword or his aim, it would be the ability to sap every drop of self worth from me with one word.

Eyes cast down, I grabbed my backpack, sliding it onto my shoulders as he stepped out the door, closing it behind him.

Today was already going swimmingly, wasn’t it?

Everyone had the day off on Reaping, from school, work, the idea being  _no matter what you did, you had to be there at eleven on the dot._ I had the day off too, of course, but, if I plan on running that factory one day, I have to make sure it doesn’t get burned to the ground. If there’s one thing I know about the place, it’s that the employees would leave a stick of dynamite in a gasoline tank and never bother to take it out.

Not to mention I could get some extra work done. In my attempt to ‘ruin the Swift name’ by staying as far away from fighting as possible, I hopped from field to field to see what I could do. Yet another rich boy luxury I suppose; I get choices. Eventually, I found I had a knack for chemistry, mixing scents together into a pleasing, easy to make formula, and so, I got a job creating scents at the factory.

The sky was overcast today. I would say how fitting it was, but it was overcast almost every day here in perpetually dark District 1. As I made my way to the factory, I stopped when I heard voices coming down the way. That wasn’t good. I quickly turned, trying to duck down an alleyway, when I heard a voice shout. “Like, oh my god, isn’t that one of the Swifts?”

“Yeah, the little one.”

The smart thing to do now would be to walk away. To let this go, turn around, and pretend I didn’t hear them. There was only one problem. Wits did nothing for my pride. “I can name many things littler than me, Leviticus; you should really see a doctor about that.”

The boy’s face burned. “You saying something?”

“Levi, like, calm down, he’s totally ‘not worth it it.’” As if things couldn’t get any worse. There he was, the face of District 1, the symbol of everything vapid and worthless, Fiyero Deamorte. Even in the gaudy streets of District 1, Fiyero managed to stand out brighter than a peacock; hair redder than any strawberry I’d ever seen - I’d accuse him of coloring it if he hadn’t burst into hives when I spilled hair dye on him in second grade - green eyes a color that shouldn’t exist, perfect skin and smile, thin in all the right places, rich beyond the belief, moving here from the Capitol as a child, he’s the District 1 Dream.

And he legitimately thinks two plus two is, ‘like, indigo.’

Now that is where I should leave, but - “What do you mean by not worth it? Last I checked I was the only one here with any actual talent.” Damn my mouth, damn it all. I was surrounded by two male future careers, Fiyero’s girlfriend, who is on her way to being the hundred and first female tribute, and Fiyero Deamorte, who, while harmless, dad owns the largest company in Panem.

“Like, I have talents,” Fiyero whined, leaning his head on his girlfriend’s shoulder.

“Like what?”

“I can tell fabric by touch!”

“Well that’s useful for absolutely nothing.”

“Hey.” The girlfriend stepped forward, Amazonia if I’m remembering right. “You want to say that to him again?”

No. “Yes. He is useful for absolutely nothin-” I probably deserved that. The punch to the gut knocked the wind out of me, and I crumpled down, clutching my stomach. As soon as I did, I got a knock to the jaw, my head snapping back, fire shooting through my skull as I hit the concrete, groaning, blood dribbling down my chin.

At least it couldn’t get any wor- and she spat on my face.

I heard Fiyero tut, felt his shadow loom over me, as he bent down, whispering in my ear. “You know, if you get picked, no one’s volunteering for you. We’re all just going to cheer when you get slaughtered.”

Fucking. Sadist.

With that, and a final kick that rocketed, shattered, splintered glass along my spine, it seemed they were satisfied with their damage, sliding back into whatever diamond encrusted hole they crawled out of. I forced myself to my elbows, then my feet, catching a glance in a window to see my reflection. My cheek was already blossoming with bruises, I was lucky they hadn’t broken my glasses this time. Next time, I’d be smarter about it. Start a fight  _without_ Amazonia around.

I made that promise to myself, knowing full it wouldn't keep.


	2. Questioning 2

**_Find a Curiosity_ **

**_~_ **

 

_And_ I was running late. Shoving the last of the bottles into the bag, I threw it over my shoulder as I raced out the building, bolting through the now deserted streets. I could hear the bell begin to chime and  _two minutes left._  If I missed this and the peacekeepers didn’t kill me, Father would.

Wheezing for breath, I finally broke through the last street, skidding to a stop right by the desk.

It was 11:01.

“I’m sorry, you’re late. Please wait with the peacekeepers-”

“You don’t understand, I just got back from work-”

“You are late. Go wait with the peacekeepers.” The woman stared dead into my eyes. And I knew I was done.

“…my brother’s going up there, please.” I looked twelve, may as well try to take advantage of that.

“We all have someone going up there.” She rose. “If you won’t go willingly, I’ll have them escort you.”

My heart was thudding in my ears. Maybe I wasn’t so ready for Death. Maybe it wasn’t like I thought it would be seeing it on TV oh god I wasn’t ready to die-

“Jewelia, please.” I heard a voice from behind me and…no.  _No way in hell._ “Why don’t we make an exception just this once. They haven’t even started.”

Eros Deamorte was helping me through.

I tried to hide my shock behind my glasses. No, it wasn’t my imagination, it was him, the fire red hair, jade eyes, an older, sharper version of his dullard son.

The woman’s face paled, and immediately she takes my hand, pricking the needle and smushing it against the paper, probably much harder than necessary, but I wasn’t pushing my luck. When I got it back, I put it in my pocket, looking back to…I still couldn’t believe I’m speaking to  _Eros_ _Deamorte_ _._  “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem, sweetheart.” Eros smiled, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “I’m sure you’ll want a front row seat for this one.”

“Huh?”

“Your brother; we all know he’s going this year.”

Something about his tone seemed off. But maybe it was my paranoia. “Right.”

“But hey, can I ask you to deliver a message to the future tribute?”

Well, I wasn’t planning on visiting Illias before he went, but I did owe this guy now. Not a good thing, owing things to a Deamorte. “Of course.”

“Win for us. We’ll need a good mentor next year.”

What? “Why for nex-”

“Oh, look, the ceremony starting.” Eros pats my head, pushing me in with the fifteen year olds. “Good luck, Swift. May the odds be ever in your favor.” With a wink and a twirl, the sprout of red hair bobbed off into the crowd.

While I couldn’t see any of my brothers, I could feel their glare, Father too somewhere with the adults. Most of the other kids were staring at me too now. Wonderful. Clearing my throat, I stood up straighter, a bored expression stitched onto my face.

Before anyone could comment, a flash of smoke boomed onto the stage, and standing in the middle of it, decked head to toe in golds and diamonds, stood the one, the only person dumber than Fiyero and Illias, “Ammolite Gold, everybody! Come on, put your hands up!”

In most districts, the mayor is the one does this part, the song and dance about the dark days. But most districts don’t have Ammolite for an escort. He annoys me. I believe he annoys everybody, though most people are subtler about it. He’s loud, obnoxious, and, above all else, Capitol.

“Alright, so.” He flashed that golden grin of his. And by golden, I mean he spray painted his teeth gold. “Why don’t we get this show on the road? Play the clip!”

_War, terrible war-_ and that’s where I zone out. The reel plays, I yawn, managing to spot the rest of my brothers. Illias was standing very front and center of the eighteen year olds, Bravon further back with the seventeens, and Satin was practically curled up mixed among the sixteens. Honestly, sometimes I feel Satin is just me without the willpower to tell dad he’s an idiot.

Our mentors for this year were up on stage as well, Lamar and Glitta. Far from the most embarrassing ones, I suppose: Lamar quiet and dignified, Glitta cocky and obnoxious but with enough sense to tone it down for on camera. I’ve known both most my life, being neighbors and all, though I never spent much time talking to either - minus telling Glitta if she lets her brats break into my room again, she wouldn’t have them anymore.

Finally, the video came to an end, and Ammolite clapped, standing center stage. “Alright, now for the fun part. We’ve got an special surprise this time around!” With that, he pulled a golden envelope from his coat. I have no doubt that he based his entire outfit around the paper. “Welcome to… the Quarter Quell! It’s gonna be a good one, the Capitol came up with it, like, last week. Pretty sweet, right?” Then, he paused, putting a hand to his ear. “Oh. Uh, I mean, they came up with it when the games first started. Yeah. Totally not a rush job.”

Moron.

“But yeah, so, let’s see what we’ve got!” With that, he cut open the top with one of his long, sharpened nails, clearing his throat. “ _On_ this - wait, scratch that -  _on_ the  _100th anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that they forced their children into turning on their brethren, they shall choose among themselves who will represent them._  Wait a second, this wasn’t on th-“ I could see his lips still moving, but the mic was shut.

Really? Doesn’t seem like much of an extra punishment. Maybe for those kids out in 12 who aren’t swimming in volunteers, but here? Illias is still going in. They’re practically vote-ins already. When the name is picked, the mentor chooses from the pool of volunteers, or can just discard the volunteers altogether. Everyone’s just going to vote for Illias and Amazonia.

Ammolite was still talking, mic back on, about what, who cares, “Capitol says you could just use this to send your best, or you could get rid of someone you don’t like, do whatever, man,” as the peacekeepers pass around the tablets.

Illias turned back, glaring at me from his spot, mouthing put me, or else. Well. Now I’m tempted to not to, just out of spite. Whatever, It’s his life, not mine. I typed Amazonia’s name in first, her picture flashing at the top with a  _is this correct?_  Dark black hair, creepily green eyes and a smile that says ‘I eat souls for a pastime’. Yeah, that’s her. I admit, I hesitated a moment with Illias. Should I? I mean, I trust him, I suppose, I know he’s ready but…there’s twenty three other kids in there, and at least five as well trained as him… Not that I cared if he died, of course, because I don’t. With a huff, I typed in his name, passing off the tablet. Whatever, it’s not like my vote would make a difference anyway.

Within ten minutes, everyone had cast their vote, and Ammolite came back onto the stage. “Now it’s time for the fun part.” Another puff of smoke, and two balls appeared on the stage, each containing only one piece of paper. Why bother when there’s only one? No clue. I chalk it up to cyanide in the Capitol water supply, killing off brain cells.

“Now, let’s hear one for the ladies.” He sent a wink to the audience, more than a few girls letting out a dreamy sigh, as he reached into the bowl. There was a drum beat, somewhere, before he plucked it out. “Welcome onto the stage… Amazonia Rhode!”

The crowd went wild. I didn’t bother. She marched up the stage, trained soldier she was, taking Ammuoite’s hand and holding it up in victory, as he kissed her cheek. Yeah, that surprised nobody.

“And now, onto the boys.” Another pointless drum beat. “Hey, we’ve got another Swift going up this year, sweet!” What a shocker. “Saw reruns of your dad the other week, ripping a guy’s lungs out, awesome.” Gross. “But, yeah, so, everyone, put your hands together for, _Eliot Swift!_ ”

Whatever, at least it’ll get him out of the hous- wait, what?

“Eliot Swift, come on up!”

No. No, no they had to have the wrong name in there, it’s not possible, I’m the only Swift who  _didn’t_  want to enter the games, no way it would be me. Illias was glaring daggers at me, and I heard laughter from every corner.

No, no, this was not- “Excuse me,” I spoke in a calm, collected voice because I’m not a savage and more importantly there’s no way they voted for me. “There must be a mistake, I believe you’re looking for Illias Swift.”

Ammolite on the stage took another glance at the paper, long and hard. Good, so it must have been a smudged letter. “No, I’m pretty sure it’s Eliot on here.”

…“No.”

“Uh, what do you mean, no-”

“No, it is not my name, it is Illias’s, why, what,  _who_  would have voted for me? Did anyone here vote for me?” Almost every single person raised their hand, with the exception of my brothers.

Really?  _Really_? I could hear the jeers and laughter as I was pushed to the front, helped along by peacekeepers and the other teenagers that until now, I held mild contempt for, but now, now I swear they’ll pay.

As I passed the seventeen year olds, I saw him there, that infuriating puff of red hair, giving me that sickeningly sweet grin. “ _No one’s volunteering.”_ Sadist. I used to mean it sarcastically, but not anymore.

And so, I stood upon that stage, a shitty star against the sea of smiling faces, the girl next to me licking her lips like she’d found her first meal, mouthing ‘ _you’re first’_. We shook hands, she crushed mine, I think actually broke it, but at this point, I was too high on rage to even notice.

Just my fucking luck.

Finally, Ammolite asked if we had any final words. I blacked out, brain turned off, running on complete autopilot, mind in the furthest reaches of the stem. Without permission from the control room, my hand took the microphone, tapped on it once, and used my kindest, sweetest voice. “I am going to win. Not because I want to bring glory, not because I want to live, but just so I can come back here and slice the smile off of every one of your petty, pathetic little faces. Fuck you, see you all in hell.”

I dropped the mic. On my foot. And squeaked in pain.

This was going well. 


	3. Questioning 3

**_Demand Answers_ **

**_~_ **

There used to be a library around here. And by ‘used to’, I mean before Panem even existed. I mean back in the days before the floods and quakes and some apocalyptic, omnipresent being called ‘Taylor Swift’. Before the Dark Days were even an idea. Back in some place called ‘America’.

I learned about it on one of the many, many runs from my dad. This isn’t a sob story, I’m not special because I have daddy issues and mommy got shot. I was too young to remember her anyway, and I’d be far from unique. But, I was still a child running away from his problems.

There are next to no natural areas in District 1, unless you count the trimmed, plastic gardens spaced in the richer neighborhoods. The whole place was paved over, factories, lakes wherever the eye could see. And so, the polluted little lake in the middle of the poorest part of our city was where I went. Sitting by the water, I’d dipped my feet in, because I was young and stupid and hadn’t heard the word cholera before; when my feet brushed something plastic. I’d leaned down, pulling it from the water, and inside was a book, shrink-wrapped in a sealed container, words  _Yorkwood Library_ stamped across the cover. With a bit of digging, I found three more, each with the same stamp. From then on, time to time I came back to that lake, occasionally dredging some scraps to acknowledge that yes, the world was, in fact, always this shitty.

Regardless, in my sessions of grey-area treason, I came the concept of ‘karma’. And, as I am realizing at this very moment she is, in fact, a bitch.

Yeah, as I was marched into the justice building, locked in the visiting room, left to stew in my own misery, a small voice in the back of my head reminded me that, alright, maybe this is a teensy tiny bit entirely my own fault. That maybe, when you’re a dick to everyone you meet, they just might take the opportunity to get rid of you.

However, that doesn’t make me want to kill them any less.

Quite honestly, I was expecting I wouldn’t get a single visitor, until Illias stormed through the doors, the wood cracking back against the concrete. “What is  _wrong_  with you?!”

“Yes, it’s my fault I was voted-” the first landed on my cheek landed before I could even react, wincing, clutching it as a peacekeeper snapped Illias from behind, handcuffing them together with a mutter of ‘no injuring the tribute.’

Like a rabid mutt, kicking and screaming, his skin bled red from trying to twist to pull his arms away as a second peacekeeper came to subdue him. “This was my turn, mine! I should be in there! Let go of me, they can’t take him if he’s dead!” As he was dragged out, I stayed glued to the couch, wondering if winning really was such a great idea anymore. Maybe I should just let him rip my colon through my nose. It may just be quicker at this point.

After he was gone, my father came in, Bravon stomping, Satin following like a kicked puppy at their heels.

Clearing his throat, Aren sat, face impassive. “So.”

There was a long, long pause, before Bravon decided to break the silence with a stomp. “You just had to spite us, didn’t you? You couldn’t let Illias have this, you just had to go and take it for yourself.”

“He can have it back. Please take it off my hands.” It was hard to keep the desperation from bleeding into my voice. I couldn’t be weak, not now, not until I was alone in the train.

 _“This isn’t funny._ ” He slammed his hands down in a way that was so Illias like, he had to have practiced. Big brother worship at it’s finest. “You’re going to die in there. He would have won.”

“Nice to know that’s why you don’t want me going in-”

“You never seemed to mind him dying, any of us dying, you never seem to care about  _mom_ , you never cared about Ale-”

“You expect me to have that much of an attachment to a woman I practically never met?” I could hear the waver, my pitch going up, volume going down, fists clenching behind my back. This wasn’t going to last. And he did not dare to bring up - stop. “What makes you so certain I won’t win?”

The silence said more than any ‘Bambi.’

“I can’t believe you.” Turning out, Bravon stormed through the doors. All that was left was dad and Satin.

“Son.” Aren stood, staring down at me. “You know how I feel. And you know how I feel about your brother. Don’t dishonor this family anymore. Win with dignity, or don’t come home at all.” And there he went. All that was left was Satin.

Biting his lip, Satin fidgeted in his seat, checking the door like some monster would spring and attack him.

“I know you can win.”

What? He said it so quietly, I…I couldn’t have heard it right.

“I know you can, Eli, I know it. They know it to. It’s why they’re angry, you’re taking Illias’s glory.” A small smile came to Satin’s face. “You’re going to outsmart them.”

With a slight gulp, I tried to keep my eyes from widening. “I…”

“Stunned? The great, verbose Eliot? I’ll take it as a victory.” Satin patted my shoulder, standing. “I love you, little bro. Go get’m. Size isn’t everything, right?” He glanced to the door again. “And don’t tell dad, but, I’m quitting the Academy.”

What? No. He. What?

“Mister Deamorte. He’s looking for an assistant, and Fiyero told me he said if I applied, I’d get it on the spot.” Today was just getting more and more confusing. I wanted to ask why, but, well… it was nice, having at least one person say they were rooting for me.

“I love you too.” With a sad smile, I pulled Satin into a hug. More than a little awkward, considering he had a full head on me, but I needed it. I’ve never needed it before. Right now, I needed it more than anything.

The peacekeeper on the other side knocked “Times up.”

With a shuddering breath, I pulled back. “Hey, Satin.”

“Yeah?”

I gave a small smile. “You get my room.”

—

Minutes later, I was in the car. I caught my reflection in the mirror, bruises blossoming on my cheek, hair splayed at every angle. I looked beaten, broken, and more than anything else,  _pissed_. And, sadly, not in the strong, rage-filled vengeance quest I wanted. More like a petulant child.

I didn’t have any makeup, so I reached into my backpack, pulling out my hooded jacket, shoving the suit aside. Throwing it on, I pulled the strings so it covered my face. Alright, that works. When I went to put the pack back down, I heard the clink of glass.

Oh, right, I brought the perfumes.

With a sigh, I picked one up. Chamomile peppermint and a dash of rosemary, to calm anxiety and up your energy. I liked it, but it was far from popular. With a slight smile, I sprayed it on. I felt my shoulders relax, eyes drifting shut.

A few minutes later, I was shoved  into the horde of paparazzi, vultures, whatever you can imagine. My face was hidden by the hood, thankfully. I hoped it came off dangerous, but I’m pretty sure I just looked scared shitless. Especially next to Amazonia; six foot two, with those grass green eyes that showed just how much she couldn’t wait to gouge out my own, muddy brown. I managed to glance in the reflection of one of the car windows and dear God. I looked like a terrified child hiding behind his mother. A mother who wants to eat him, but hey, that describes lots of kids here.

Mercifully, we were pushed through the doors, which shut behind us. I was alone, finally… okay, well, I wasn’t alone, there were Capitol people everywhere, plus Amazonia, but I was as alone as I was going to get until they gave me a room. So, I pulled down my hood, sighing in relief as the train began to move.

… And to stop again in another ten minutes.

Look, we’re on a Capitol trains, which go what, 250 MPH? From District 1, we’d be there in an hour. The Capitol doesn’t want that, they want all the tributes arriving on the same day, so the train sits here twenty four hours, as we twiddle our thumbs like schmucks.

Soon I was led to my room, which… wow… this… I was not expecting this. The walls were a lush glittery gold, muted enough a shade that it calmed instead of glared. The sheets were plush enough I thought they were actual clouds, a small window hanging above the bed showed the forest landscape I never thought I’d see. Pulling open the drawer, it was stuffed with thick wool, silk, cashmere everything. I’d never seen anything so luxurious.

Now, I live - lived, I corrected myself, then changed it back to live because I’m winning this thing damn it - in Victor’s Village, which is nice. Extremely nice. I figured I had as high a life as one could get, though I never took much advantage of it. As soon as dad dies I’d be kicked out. Even if one of my brothers won the games, there’s not a doubt in my mind they would have me arrested if I came over for tea.  

… Except… apparently Satin.

Plopping down on the bed, I brought my knees to my chest, because this made no sense. Satin, I knew he was the smartest, I suspected he had more to life ahead of him than murder, but, well… I was never nice to Satin. I was probably worse to him than any of my other brothers, because Illias could step on me, and Bravon was a slightly smaller Illias. Satin, while still stronger than me and a good head, well, ahead, he never gave the same danger reading. I guess that made him the easier target.

 _Karma_.

Honestly, the fact that he visited me, it made this so, so much worse. Because I could just run on rage before. I could blindly charge in because I had nothing to lose, everything to prove, and my only reason for coming home was to rub it in their faces. But now, Satin cared. Now I was going to have to deal with this guilt in the back of my mind. It’s so foreign to me, caring, and of course the first time I get it is right before I have to slit a twelve-year-old’s throat.

With a sigh, I stood again, heading into the bathroom. The shower was… I can’t even begin to describe this thing. The amount of buttons made it look like someone dropped an octopus tentacle in chrome. Well, I guess that does more than begin to describe it.

That wasn’t what I was looking for, though. After a bit of digging, I managed to find some makeup in the drawers. Half my face was plum colored now, ached at the slightest prod. My shoulder seemed popped too, and as the prod began to fade I felt the ache flowing through me. Gritting my teeth, I applied the cover-up, just enough to hide any evidence of getting clocked in the face. I’m sure my design team will have much better for this, and I was far from the best with makeup.

Though I know someone who _is._

Ah, there, that’s something I can get behind thinking about. Fiyero Deamorte. All the things I was going to do to that brat when I saw him. This was his fault, all of it, I know it. As soon as it was announced, he turned to all his little followers, who turned to theirs, and that’s why everyone voted for me. I mean, I piss off a lot of people, but not enough to swing the entire youth population of a District to just write off the male candidate for victory. No, the only person with that kind of mind-control is same one who couldn’t spell it.

Soon, there was a knock at my door, offering to lead me to the dining room. I quickly stripped off my outfit, throwing on a pair that was labeled ‘sweatpants’ and a loose cotton shirt that felt like it didn’t exist. Seriously, I had to check the mirror five times to be sure I wasn’t actually naked. It was a strange sensation.

Then I’m led- dragged- to the table, large oak wood with golden finishing, with a white tablecloth. I wanted to take the moment to be impressed, but, instead, I just wanted to run back to the safety of my room because Amazonia was staring again.

“So you came, huh? Thought you would’ve offed yourself with a scarf by now, save us all the trouble.”

“Now, come on, you know nothing gives me more joy than being a pain in the ass.” I sat down across from her, rather impressed with the fact I didn’t actually melt into a pile on the floor.

“Smart. Smart’s not going to do you much good when there’s a sword in your gut.”

“Well I-”

“ _Tributes_.” Lamar cleared his throat from behind me, and I would be lying if I said I didn’t jump. But I’m a liar, so, I did not jump.

“Finally, someone I can actually talk to.” Amazonia crossed her legs, clicking her tongue.

Sitting down at the head, Lamar cleared his throat. “First, we’ll get our food, then, we’ll begin to talk strategy.”

“We’re missing two people.” From everything I’d ever heard or read, the escort and other mentor join you for your meal.

“They’re…” There was the sound of shattered glass, a cheer, and loud laughter far down the hallways. “ _Occupied_  for now.”

Lovely.

Within a few moments, the meal began to arrive, and, I say this as one of the richest people, in the richest District, our most victorious lifespans yet, this is by far more food than I’d ever seen. I could see Amazonia outright salivating. Sometimes I forget, even in our District, more than a few people don’t get enough to eat.

But still, I didn’t even know this many types of food existed. I couldn’t recognize half the meats or vegetables, anything, really. They all just paraded in front of my eyes, and I knew now was not the time to try out a new fad diet, they’re called the Hunger Games for a reason, and with my metabolism, I would have about twenty minutes before I starved at my weight.

About halfway through them bringing out the first course, though, these little, for lack of a better term, white balls came out, sprinkled with green herbs - garlic, I was later told - with a cup of liquid butter next to it. I admit, I was interested.

They were the single best thing I have ever experienced in my life. Not the best food. The best anything. I’m rather sure they will forever be the best thing I will experience, sorry to any future children who are unfortunate enough to share my DNA, their birth will be about a four in comparison to this. Needless to say, I ordered another six rounds.

When all the food was brought, Lamar placed down his fork and knife. “Down to business. First, what skills do you have?”

Amazonia cracked her knuckles, and that’s when I noticed she’d actually sharpened her canines. Are you kidding me. “Are there any skills I don’t have?”

“Be specific, please.”

“Throwing knives, swords, spears, clubs, climbing, and tracking were all A subjects for me. I graduated top of the class every year I was in.”

Lamar gave a slow nod, jotting notes down in a small black book. “Swift?” I wasn’t sure if I should be glad or angry about the fact this man who’s known me since I could breathe seemed to have zero emotional attachment to my fate.  

“I…” What could I say here? “Chemistry.”

Amazonia started to cackle, but Lamar glanced to her, and she stifled it with her napkin. “Anything else? Anything you have experience in?”

“Just chemistry.”

“… Chemistry,” he repeated in a low, incredulous voice. “Your skillset for a game of  _murder_  is chemistry?” And in that moment, I knew I no longer had a mentor.

After the meal, we’re led to another compartment where the TV takes up the entire wall. Lamar skips District 1, saving it for last. I want to complain, but, he’s just about the only person I can’t afford to hate me. Don’t care about me, fine, he wasn’t getting me any sponsors anyway, but on the astronomical chance someone does want to donate, I don’t want him refusing.

District 2 is even more terrifying than usual. They picked their best and brightest, no doubt, both boy and girl. And… I admit to possibly staring at the boy a bit longer than I should have. Shut up, I’m about to die, leave me alone. Only interesting thing from District 3 is the girl is twelve, possibly the only one my height and weight, so I can’t even begin to imagine what horrible things she did to get her name on the ballot. District 4 is like District 2, the District 5 boy broke down crying on the spot, District 6 boy did some strange hand thing, District 11 recruited a girl I think is an actual giant, and District 12 has just given up on ever winning again since their humiliation, because they sent up two fourteen-year-olds who barely knew what was going on. But, it’s still me and District 3 tied for smallest.

Finally, everything was brought back to District 1… and it was so much worse than I thought.

_“They’re really sending up a twelve-year-old?”_

_“So sad, really, but what can you do, these things happen.”_

_“Oh, oh, oh, did you hear! He’s a Swift!”_

_“No way, like, the Aren Swift? I heard one of his sons was going up this year.”_

_“Just not the one everyone was looking for.”_

_“Aww, but look how cute he is, he’s swearing. It’s always so adorable when little kids try to sound grown up.”_

My face was burning red, visible even through the makeup, and I knew Amazonia didn’t miss it. The look on Lamar’s face cemented it. I had no shot of getting help from him.

When I was led back to my bed, I was forced to look, objectively, at my circumstance. I was outmatched, outclassed in every possible way, I had no mentor, no chance of sponsors,

Amazonia would be gunning for me for bragging rights back home, I have zero survival skills that would actually apply to the games, and absolutely no one is rooting for me back home, except a brother who will get a beating if he says it.

I have this big rallying speech somewhere in my head, that it doesn’t matter everything is against me, an underdog chant, that I’ll win anyway, I’ll show karma who’s really a bitch. But it felt hollow, it felt fake even to me.

This is my time to cry. This is all I’ll have time for, because I won’t have much of it left. Whether that be through death or trauma.

So, I let it go. This was it, my chance to let go of years of pent-up hatred, guilt, you fucking name it. Towards what, I don’t know. For being small, for being temperamental, for never being good enough, for always knowing how I treated people was wrong but just never being able to stop my mouth before it moved. I didn’t know what the tears were for, pity for myself, anger at the world, maybe a bit of both. They were hot on my face, felt like someone cut open my eyes and let the blood drip down, thick and heavy down my cheeks, leaving wells in their wake. The water dripped onto the cloth, making it stick to my skin, and I could feel it, feel it cling to me, like it was trying to attack me, like everyone else.

Even if I survive this, I’m dead. There is no going home. There is no home anymore. Illias will never forgive me for taking what he worked his whole life for, Bravon never liked me to begin with, dad, I never told dad I loved him, that I cared, because he was just always there and the thought never crossed my mind that one day he just won’t. And Satin, if he’s smart, he’ll stay as far away from me if he can. I was alone before, I thought I was, but this is a new sort of alone. The last one was self-imposed, this is permanent.

And it’s all my fault. This is all my fault. As I slept, as I dreamed, I knew that one word would forever be burned into my bone marrow. 

 _Karma_.


End file.
